


Flower Garden

by irritableDemiurge



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, F/F, F/M, Implied abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritableDemiurge/pseuds/irritableDemiurge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Then what the mother fuck are you here for? IT’S OVER JUSTICE SISTER. The game’s over and we’re all up and waiting for the ending to finish.”</p><p>It's advisable to remove withered flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between the current events in the comic and the ending. Terezi goes clown hunting one more time.

Gamzee Makara is standing right in front of you, looking out towards the darkness of the Furthest Ring. He doesn't notice you approaching until you're about a dozen steps away. His head turns towards you slowly, face stretching into a malicious grin when he sees you. The three scars stretch and contort into grotesque shapes that are almost as horrifying as the look in his eyes. You stop, and he turns the rest of his body towards you as well.

“No costumes for wriggler games, sister?” he asks, and you squeeze your mouth into a thin line.

“They weren't wiggler games. It was serious business!”

“It was motherfucking PRETEND, walking around in SOMEONE ELSE’S BOOTS.” He grins further at his own joke, but you remain unamused. You are once again the hand of justice, and justice doesn't laugh at a criminal unless the wind is making their corpse swing funny.

“I'm not here to talk, Gamzee,” you tell him, then almost start backwards when he flashsteps so he's in front of you. You wonder how he can move so fast.

“Then what the mother fuck are you here for? IT’S OVER JUSTICE SISTER. The game’s over and we’re all up and waiting for the ending to finish.”

“Over for you, maybe,” you say and return his grin for once. You didn't always have the guts to do that.

"Over for me. OVER FOR YOU. Over for mother. Fucking. EVERYBODY." His expression doesn't falter, but you can see that eternal rage hidden behind his eyes bubble, threatening to break through to the surface. That rage that makes him so strong. Strong enough to tear a troll’s head clean off their shoulders, strong enough to doom an entire universe and the one after it, strong enough to trick you. Twice. You just stare at each other for a while, your faces centimetres apart. Even slumped forward like he usually is, he’s more than a head taller than you, and you’re not short by anyone’s standards.

“So… how’s it feel like to have working oculars again?” he asks you snidely.

 

The first look you smell on his face is one of preemptive satisfaction, if preemptive satisfaction is even a thing to be. If it is, Gamzee’s always it when he talks to you. Always knowing what’ll get to you.

“Like shit,” you inform him. But there’s no bitterness to your tone, no anger. He was wrong.

The next look that spreads over his features, you swear, is one of disappointment.

“That’s another crime you’re responsible for. I’d never have agreed to it if it weren’t for the self-doubt you inflicted on me.”

“You saying I went and involved my wicked self with crimes? ELABORATE, NEOPHYTE!” He’s clearly mocking you by using your old roleplaying title, but you’re too focused to let that get to you either. You promised yourself he would never get to you again.

“Multiple counts of murder of innocent trolls,” you begin listing, “the decapitation of a seadweller’s corpse. The bastardization of the corpse of a royal heiress –“

“THOSE WEREN'T CRIMES,” he interrupts you. “It was god damned RIGHTEOUSNESS, slanderer. Mother fuck, you should know better by now."

“I wasn't done yet. There’s still the matter of what you did to me.”

“ARE YOU IMPLYING,” he roars in your face, “THAT I DID MORE THAN SING THE TUNE TO WHICH YOU LET THAT SPIDER–TONGUED WITCH GET HER FIX ON ON YOUR EMBER-EYES?"

“You used me to kill Vriska!” you shout back, hoping against hope your voice won’t sound pathetic compared to his. “You manipulated me into a position in which I was forced to choose between her and everyone! Puppets and deceit and subjugglator tricks. I accuse you of another count of murder, Gamzee Makara, and for this one I’ll see you hang!”

He laughs then, and the third expression you smell is one that mocks every bone in your body.

“Little Redglare’s figured it out. LITTLE REDGLARE ALL UP AND FUCKING FIGURED THIS SHIT OUT. _Sister-killer_ ,” he hisses at you, and the name hurts, despite everything. “But you’re the one who pushed the blade into the liar’s bloodpusher. YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DID THE KILLING, SISTER. SO I SAY!”

He stands to his full height now, and you have to strain your neck to look into his eyes.

“I say the JUST thing for your noose to do is to motherfucking wrap itself around your own motherfucking neck.”

 _“Calm and collected, Terezi,”_ you tell yourself, and exhale sharply. It’s hard, because part of you still agrees with him. But that part’s a traitor to the Legislacerator name, and it’ll swing from the same rope Makara will.

“I know why you did it. It’s obvious really, I didn’t need eyes to see it.”

“Oh? Then why don’t you fucking ELABORATE SOME MORE, NEOPHYTE.”

“You couldn’t kill her yourself. She was too strong for you. She was so much stronger than all of us! I could do it because she dared me to. She turned her back to me and challenged me to stop her. She didn’t expect me to do it, but I did. But you?”

You move your head up and down so it seems like you’re looking at him from head to toes, despite your blindfold. “She’d have seen you coming from a mile away. She would have turned you to grubsauce the second you pulled out that ridiculous hammer of yours.”

 

He jumps you then, and knocks you to the ground. His bony hips straddle your bonier ones, arms pin you down by the shoulders. Your head bounces off the pavement painfully, and you barley hear Gamzee’s voice through the ringing.

“Aren’t we pitch for each other? BLACKER THAN THE FURTHERMOST RING ABOVE US? We’re only supposed to hurt each other. YOU AIN’T GONNA GO AND KILL YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HATEMATE. I’m all up in your grill, kismesister. I’M THE PART OF YOU THAT SHOWS YOU WHERE YOU’RE WORST AT. And no one stabs the part of them that tells them who they really are up and deep inside their thinkpans.”

“Wrong. I do,” you say, and pull your canesword out of your strife specibus unsheathed and ready. He’s got a hammer in his hand moments later, and it’s already raised high above both of you, out of sight. But you can still smell it.

“You suck at black. You always have, and what you just said would prove it to any jury. Rivals are supposed to see their own weaknesses in the other and try to improve on them, they’re supposed to point out things they’d never admit! It’s about competition, a drive to improve. About challenging each other’s views. But you? You just beat people down into the ground and never raised them up better. Instead of pulling out the withered flowers you try to burn down the entire garden!”

This doesn’t hurt him, as you knew it wouldn’t. He never really felt anything, but you did. You knew that. And he knew you knew.

He leans down so his mouth's right next to your ear: “YOU TALKING ABOUT YOUR CORPSE FRIEND AGAIN? Do you got a reason to reject me like that, my judicious sister? Throwing around all these motherfucking accusations, but you ain’t never gonna proselytize me. I’m gonna take all your flaws and make a FUCKING FLOWER WREATH OUT OF THEM and WEAR IT AROUND MY OWN FUCKING HORNS.” 

 

His free hand slides off your shoulders and down your arm, until his fingers are interlocked with yours.

“It don’t matter how tough you are,” he says as he ghosts his lips over yours, “you’re already too fucking broken to fix.”

When your lips are between his and his tongue is in your mouth it feels disgusting disgusting _disgusting_ , but that’s how it always felt, and when he bites down on you and draws teal you repay him in kind. He squeezes your hand with that brutish force of his and you feel your bones crack and move against each other, threatening to break. How much strength did it take to strangle Equius? How much to beat Nepeta to death? Just how hard was he trying to hold back?

You don’t find out because you use the full force of your hips to knock both of you over. You roll around the hard ground for a while, but his hammer is hefty and awkward, and your blade was already at his neck.

You emerge on top.

“I know you ain’t gonna do it. YOU KNOW YOU AIN’T GONNA GO MOTHERFUCKING THROUGH WITH IT, NEOPHYTE. Feelings are all up and clouding your thinkpan. YOUR HATE FOR ME IS A SHADE TOO DARK.” The taller troll is completely confident, despite your knees on his chest and your blade at his jugular.

“Wrong again, Makara," you say, and smell his expression change. It's satisfying. "You always were one dumb motherfucker when no one was in charge of _you_.” His hammer whizzes through the air towards your skull, and you wonder how he can be so fast.

The truth of it was, Gamzee Makara hadn't made you feel anything except regret for a long time.

 

The last thing you smelled on his face before you ran your sword through his throatstem was fear.

  

*

 

You roll over so you’re lying on your back, letting your cane slip from your fingers.

You breathe in.

You breathe out.

The air changed. The smell of facepaint and rage was gone for good. Someone came up from behind you.

 

“Wow, you weren’t nearly as dramatic as you used to be.” You don’t see who it is, but you can tell anyway.

“It was still way overboard though, obviously.”

They lie down beside you so your heads are next to each other and your bodies are pointing in opposite directions.

You open your mouth a few times to say something, but close it again every time. Finally, you manage. “You’re one to talk.”

“Oh shut up. By the way,” there’s a pause.

“Have I ever told you what a huge bitch you are?” you ask to fill it.

“Yeah, you told me that _all_ the time. But now you’re sort of being a bitch by interrupting me when I say _“by the way”_.”

“What were you going to say?”

“…Nothing.”

 

You both fall into silence for a while. A breeze starts blowing, and you fail to be the first to speak.

 

“I can’t believe you let him kill you like that!”

“Are you seriously saying that I should have seen it coming? Really?”

“No! But everyone I like keeps getting sucker stabbed all the goddamn time. I'm just left here wondering what’s their deal?”

“I dunno. Technically I got my skull suckercrushed by a huge hammer the colour best described as _“a grub’s Wriggling Day candypocalypse”_.”

“You could have rolled out of the way instead of stabbing him and killed him after. Hell, he might have crushed his own skull instead! Just think of the possibilities, Pyrope!”

“Maybe. Maybe I just didn’t feel like it anymore.”

“Yeah, right!”

 

You find her hand with yours, the one Gamzee almost crushed. Her fingers are cool and soothing against the bruises he left. Always used to leave. Would never leave again.

“I’m glad you’re here, Vriska.”

**Author's Note:**

> The theme of this was Gamzee's expressions, because the guy's face can be freaky. Thank god he's mostly in a stupor. Chock full of Blumenkranz references so if you got those you get extra brownie points.


End file.
